


A Picture Worth A Thousand Lives

by RBXoxo



Category: N/A - Fandom
Genre: :/, Car Wreck, Creepypasta, Death, Death of child, Guns, Horror, Monsters, Shooting, Suicide, Suspected Kidnapping, a lot of death in here so, alleged kidnapping, also idk how to use tags on here lol, also theres like, but death none the less, car wreck mention, idk if my teacher's gonna like this but o well, not like, she wanted a scary story shes gonna get a scary freaking story, so be prepaaaaaareddd, super descriptive death, u brought this upon urself mrs. wilcox
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 04:05:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RBXoxo/pseuds/RBXoxo
Summary: “There are stories in Frankferd, stories about creatures that scamper and skit from one shadow to another. There are stories of creatures that cause  the hitch in your breath as you lay in bed in the early hours of the morning, just before dawn, trying to convince yourself it’s just the house settling, just a mouse skittering across the floor. Of course, they aren’t true, what would make anyone believe otherwise?”





	A Picture Worth A Thousand Lives

**Author's Note:**

> Heya, long time no see! In language arts we’ve been working on some scary narratives for halloween, and i thought why not post mine here! im p proud of it, so enjoy!

There are stories in Frankferd, stories about creatures that scamper and skit from one shadow to another, creatures that screech and scream in the dead of night, creatures that whisper sweet nothings before they strike. There are stories of creatures that cause the bumps in the night, the hitch in your breath as you lay in bed in the early hours of the morning, just before dawn, trying to convince yourself it’s just the house settling, just a mouse skittering across the floor. No one, of course, believes these stories, simply using them to scare friends or give cautionary tales to children. They aren’t true, what would make anyone believe otherwise?

*** *** ***

“Paul, I just got off the phone with the police. They said they haven’t seen Davey all day,” Mrs. Jensen paced around the small living room frantically, her voice high with anxiety. She stopped, noticing the lack of response from her husband. She turned, putting her hands on her hips as she stared down at the sleeping man. “Paul!” She shouted, causing him to stir, awaking slowly.

“Yes, dear?” He asked, a slight bashful tone in his voice. Mrs. Jensen sighed heavily, rolling her eyes. She repeated herself to him, this time earning a grave expression from Mr. Jensen.

“They said we might think about putting up posters, see if anyone has any information,” The woman’s voice was sorrowful as she twisted a strand of curly, auburn hair around her finger, gnawing on her bottom lip. She turned to the window, as if she would see her son running around the yard or wandering in the trees near the house. She didn’t see him.

“We’ll find him, Beth. Don’t worry,” Mr. Jensen put his arm around her, pulling her close. “It’ll be okay,” Though he sounded like he was trying to convince himself as well.

*** *** ***

Mrs. Jensen tried to ignore the feeling of dread that plagued her as she entered Davey’s room, but to no avail. She searched around his desk, the cork-board they put up, his closet, anywhere she thought there might be a picture of her son. She told herself it was simply to put on the missing posters, but deep down, she wanted to see her son again, even in just a photo. After a bit of searching, she found one. It was Davey at his last baseball game. His team had won, but it was close. Davey was smiling in the foreground of the picture, his strawberry blond hair sticking to his sweat-slick forehead, hazel eyes bright and happy. There were children running around in the background of the picture, some in blue, others red. Mrs. Jensen noticed something in the corner of the picture, just behind the fence. She couldn’t make out any features, just the ink black figure of something too tall and angular to be human. She shook her head, attempting to reason with herself. It might just be an animal, I’m sure it’s nothing. She told herself. It seemed reasonable enough, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something wrong. She quickly stalked out of Davey’s room, turning down the hall and to the living room, where she had been putting together the poster.

*** *** ***

It was later that night, when Mrs. Jensen was tossing in bed, her husband sound asleep, when she saw it. She sat up in bed, peering out the window. She had the feeling of being watched, but there was no one awake in the neighborhood besides her and the crickets that were the only thing keeping her safe from the deafening silence of the night. She turned away from the window, looking towards the door. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of four long, thin, ink black claws gripping the door frame. They didn’t move, and neither did she. She shook her head, her eyes screwed shut. When she opened them again, it was a full arm; boney and long and unnervingly still as it wrapped itself around the door frame. The appendage clawed at the wall just then, its sharp nails dragging down, slicing through the cream colored paint as if it were air. She inhaled sharply, keeping herself as still as possible.

The creature moved into the room slowly, its black limbs blending in with the shadows as it did so. When she got a full view of it, Mrs. Jensen felt her mouth go dry. The creature was pitch black, with leathery skin wrapped tightly around its bones. Its teeth were horrifyingly large, the sharp fangs glistening in the little bit of moonlight that filtered into the bedroom. Its eyes bored into hers, white and soulless and colder than winter’s nights. She felt a chill crawl up her spine, but she didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe, didn’t dare think.

A low, crackling growl sounded from deep within the creatures throat, and it began to creep toward her, its long, tall limbs moving slowly. The creature nearly had to bend down to avoid knocking its head on the ceiling, and its hands were the size of dinner plates. She held back a shriek as it neared her, her whole body shaking with agonizing, debilitating fear. She let out a small gasp as it leaned down, its face a mere inch away from her own. “Run.” Its voice was low and creaky, almost sounding like a purr.

She let out a small sound of fear, running out of the room and down the hall. She sped through the house, tripping over furniture and her own feet, searching for a weapon of some kind. She then remembered the hand gun they stashed in the kitchen. Mrs. Jensen turned slowly, praying that she wouldn’t see whatever it was that was in the house with her. Apparently, no one heard her prayers, as the monster was standing near the kitchen door. Her breath hitched, and she braced herself for the worst, and sprinted for the kitchen. The creature grabbed at her, its claws slicing through her shirt and the flesh on her back easily. She let out a choked cry of pain, but didn’t stop until she reached the drawer the gun was kept in. Her hands quaked as she grabbed the pistol, loading it with bullets as she tried to ignore the creaking floor behind her. She whipped around as the monster creeped behind her. She pointed the gun at the creature, the barrel a mere few inches away from its face. It starred past the gun and at her with its soulless white eyes, and bared its teeth in a devilish grin. Standing up straight, it stepped closer to her. Mrs. Jensen backed into the counter, her eyes welling up with fear. She ran to the back door a few feet away, threw open the door and sprinted into the woods.

She was unfazed by the biting cold wind of the night as she ran, stumbling over fallen branches and roots. She heard leaves crunching close behind her; the creature was on her heels. It was then that she tripped on something, tumbling down a steep hill. She shrieked, gaining scratches and cuts as she fell. Once she reached the bottom, she opened her eyes. She felt immediate regret though, as she was now face to face with the lifeless body of her beloved son. She looked around, seeing countless other bodies of children who had perished. She let out a sob, clutching her son’s body as she wept. She turned, seeing the creature behind her near the base of the hill. She reached for the pistol lying in the leaves near her, pointing it towards the monster that took her son.

“How could you? He was innocent, he was going to bring so much good into the world, how could you?” She roared, tears streaming down her face as she spoke. Her words dripped with hateful venom, but the monster showed no emotion, it merely krept closer.

“They saw. You saw. The pictures, they caused this,” Mrs. Jensen screamed as the monster spoke. It’s voice was everywhere, inside her head, all around her, echoing throughout the trees and scratching at her sanity. She heaved, her breaths shaky, and then began chuckling. Her laughter grew, becoming hysterical, shrieky laughter, and she raised the gun to the monster. “I’m sorry,” It spoke, its voice eerily similar to Davey’s.

Two shots rang out. One for the monster. And one for Mrs. Jensen.

*** *** ***

A few days after, Mr. Jensen left Frankferd, leaving behind the home that stole his most beloved. No one in Frankferd heard from or saw Paul Jensen, until a few years later when news broke out that he died in a gruesome car wreck that didn’t seem to have a clear cause. The house the Jensens left in Frankferd was sold to another young family, with an eight-year-old daughter and a fifteen year old son. The girl found a strange picture one day, of a creature with leathery, ink-black skin wrapped around its boney frame, with white fangs pulled into a twisted grin, it’s soulless white eyes boring into anyone who saw it.

The girl went missing a few days after the family moved in, disappearing in the night, never to be seen again.


End file.
